Book Review – John of John by Douglas Stuart

Douglas Stuart’s John of John is not an easy novel to love, but it is impossible to ignore. Set amid the wind-scoured isolation of the Outer Hebrides, Stuart delivers a bleak and unflinching portrait of a father and son trapped not only by poverty and place, but by faith, shame and silence. The novel follows John-Calum MacLeod, known as Cal, an unemployed university graduate summoned home by his father to farewell his dying grandmother. Cal returns reluctantly to an island he had hoped to escape, only to find that the tensions, resentments and secrets that drove him away remain as potent as ever.

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At its heart, John of John is a story about two men hiding the same truth from one another. Cal conceals his sexuality from his deeply religious father, John, while John harbours his own forbidden desires beneath the mantle of Presbyterian respectability. Stuart builds much of the novel’s emotional tension from this cruel irony: father and son are separated by lies and bitterness while sharing the very secret that might have allowed them to understand each other. Their relationship is fraught, often hostile, shaped by years of disappointment, judgement and emotional repression.

The novel’s portrayal of Free Presbyterian life is particularly powerful. Stuart captures a culture where duty outweighs happiness and where suffering appears almost sanctified. Prayer, hard work and endurance are treated as virtues, while joy feels suspect, even sinful. There is a palpable sense that pleasure is an affront to God, something to be distrusted rather than embraced. The result is a community weighed down by stoicism and self-denial, where affection is rationed and emotional honesty seems impossible. Stuart never caricatures these beliefs, but he shows with painful clarity the damage they inflict on those who cannot conform.

Just as oppressive as faith is the landscape itself. The Hebrides emerge almost as another character in the novel, magnificent yet desolate. Stuart’s descriptions of the islands evoke a place battered by wind, rain and isolation. The stark beauty of the landscape mirrors the emotional lives of its inhabitants: harsh, lonely and resistant to change. The loneliness that permeates the novel is not simply personal but geographical, a product of a community cut off from the wider world and fiercely protective of its traditions.

One of the novel’s quieter strengths lies in its depiction of John’s traditional tweed weaving which sustains many island families and has become a symbol of continuity and cultural survival. Stuart clearly admires the skill and craftsmanship required, yet he is equally aware of its limitations. Weaving keeps traditions alive but offers little economic security. Throughout the novel, poverty hangs over every household. Employment is scarce, opportunities limited, and resignation often replaces ambition. The craft may preserve heritage, but it cannot spare its practitioners from hardship.

This is ultimately a novel saturated with sadness. Unhappiness seems woven into the fabric of daily life, passed down through generations alongside faith and tradition. Yet Stuart’s achievement lies in finding humanity within that bleakness. His characters long for connection even when they lack the language to express it. Beneath the bitterness between John and Cal is a shared yearning to be known and accepted… and dare I say it… a yearning to be loved.

John of John is a sombre, often heartbreaking novel about the cost of living behind masks. It is a story of fathers and sons, faith and desire, and a community where suffering is valued more highly than happiness. Stuart’s vision of the Hebrides is beautiful but unforgiving, and his characters inhabit a world where love is constantly constrained by duty, religion and fear. The result is a powerful and deeply affecting novel that lingers long after the final page.

Beyond “Boy Books”: Reflections from a Teacher Librarian in a Boys’ School

As a teacher librarian in a boys’ school, I read The Conversation article Luke Bateman says boys need books “written for boys” to become readers. But it’s not that simple with mixed emotions. On one hand, I welcomed the discussion about boys, reading and masculinity. On the other, I found myself increasingly frustrated by the persistent notion that boys need “boy books” in order to become readers.

After nearly a decade working with boys and books, I have become wary of explanations that position boys as somehow fundamentally different readers, requiring a separate literary diet from their female peers. The idea often feels uncomfortably close to another familiar refrain: boys will be boys.

While perhaps well-intentioned, these arguments risk excusing boys from engaging with the full richness of literature. They lower expectations rather than broaden horizons. More concerningly, they reinforce a narrow view of what boys are capable of reading, enjoying and understanding.

What I see every day in the library tells a different story.

I have watched boys become absorbed in historical fiction, moved by literary novels, captivated by fantasy worlds, and deeply invested in stories centred on friendship, grief, love and identity. I have recommended books with female protagonists to boys who returned eager for the sequel. I have seen boys passionately discuss character development, moral dilemmas and complex emotional journeys.

The common factor has never been whether a book was “for boys”.

The common factor has been whether a boy felt permitted to read it.

This is where I think the conversation around boys and reading often misses the point. The issue is not a lack of suitable books. School libraries, bookshops and publishers offer extraordinary diversity. The issue is that many boys receive powerful messages about what they should and should not enjoy. Those messages come from peers, families, communities and broader cultural assumptions about masculinity.

Over time, those messages become self-fulfilling.

If boys are continually told that they prefer action, sport and non-fiction, many will come to believe that they do. If they never see male role models discussing novels, poetry or stories that explore vulnerability and emotion, they receive a clear message about which forms of reading are considered acceptable.

The irony is that the research does not support many of these stereotypes. Scholes’ study of Australian Year 3 students found that fiction was actually the most favoured genre among boys. Girls also reported higher levels of enjoyment for non-fiction than boys, challenging one of the most enduring assumptions in reading education. The study concluded that reading enjoyment and frequency were associated with higher achievement and highlighted the importance of supporting students from economically disadvantaged communities.

That last point is particularly important.

Too often, discussions about boys’ reading isolate gender from every other influence. Yet Curtis and Nielsen’s analysis of Australian literacy achievement demonstrates that socioeconomic status exerts a substantial influence on reading outcomes. Their research found that school-average socioeconomic status was a stronger predictor of literacy achievement than individual socioeconomic status, suggesting that broader social and economic contexts matter deeply.

This resonates with what I have observed across my career. Access to books, educational opportunities, family attitudes towards reading, community expectations and social capital often shape reading identity far more profoundly than gender alone.

When we simplify the discussion to “boys need boy books”, we risk ignoring these far more significant factors.

What I appreciated most about the Conversation article was its focus on masculinity rather than reading preferences. The authors argue that societal expectations surrounding masculinity can restrict boys’ engagement with reading and create narrow understandings of what boys should enjoy.

This aligns strongly with my own experience.

Some of the most enthusiastic readers I have worked with have initially apologised for what they liked reading.

They have hidden romance novels inside fantasy covers. They have quietly borrowed books with female protagonists. They have expressed surprise that other boys also enjoyed particular authors or genres.

The challenge was never the book.

The challenge was navigating expectations about masculinity.

This is why I find Luke Bateman’s story compelling. Not because it supports the argument for more books written specifically for boys, but because it reveals the damage caused when reading is viewed as incompatible with masculine identity. His account of hiding his love of books reflects the social pressures many boys continue to face.

As teacher librarians, our responsibility is not simply to match books to perceived gender preferences. Our responsibility is to expand possibilities.

We need boys to see men reading widely. We need to challenge assumptions that empathy, imagination and emotional engagement belong to girls. We need to create spaces where boys can encounter diverse stories without fear of judgement. Most importantly, we need to stop telling boys what they are supposed to like.

Because in my experience, boys do not need a narrower range of books.

They need permission to explore a wider one.

Perhaps the real question is not whether we are providing enough books for boys. Perhaps it is whether we are courageous enough to challenge the social narratives that keep limiting what boys believe reading can be.

References

Curtis, D. D., & Nielsen, P. (2025). Low literacy achievement for some: A persistent and pernicious problem in Australian education. Issues in Educational Research, 35(1), 101-125.

McDonald, S., Schulz, S., & Wescott, S. (2026, July 30). Luke Bateman says boys need books ‘written for boys’ to become readers. But it’s not that simple. The Conversation. https://theconversation.com/luke-bateman-says-boys-need-books-written-for-boys-to-become-readers-but-its-not-that-simple-288602

Scholes, L. (2021). Year 3 boys’ and girls’ enjoyment for reading across economic demographics in Australia: Implications for boys and students from lower SES communities. International Journal of Inclusive Education, 28(5), 509-524. https://doi.org/10.1080/13603116.2021.1941319

Mentoring Forward: Sustaining Practice and Growing Creativity

As teacher librarians, our professional practice is shaped not only by the resources we curate or the programs we design, but by the relationships that sustain and challenge us. Mentoring is one of the most powerful of these relationships, influencing professional identity, confidence, and the ongoing development of practice.

I am deeply grateful to the Australian School Library Association for the opportunity to participate in their mentorship program this year. It is a privilege that feels both significant and personal. When I began my journey as a teacher librarian, I was fortunate to learn from two exceptional mentors, Bronwyn and Maree. Both were highly experienced, yet their approaches to teaching and librarianship differed greatly. Observing how they designed, created, implemented, and assessed information literacy across the curriculum was invaluable. Equally impactful was witnessing how they managed resources and engaged meaningfully with colleagues. These early experiences shaped my understanding of effective practice and gave me the confidence to develop my own professional voice.

Mentoring is often confused with coaching, yet it occupies a very different space. Coaching is typically task focused and directed towards achieving specific outcomes. Mentoring, in contrast, sits closer to peer learning, where knowledge is shared through dialogue, reflection, and collaboration. At its best, mentoring also includes an element of encouragement that can be described as a form of professional cheerleading, where the mentor actively affirms and supports the growth of the mentee (Louis and Cramer, 2016). This positioning is particularly important in teacher librarianship, where professional isolation can be a reality and collegial affirmation plays a critical role in sustaining confidence and innovation.

Mentoring has long been established as a social partnership grounded in interpersonal exchange. It is shaped by the perceptions that both mentor and mentee hold of one another, and by the way these perceptions influence their interactions over time (Nunan et al., 2023). Within this context, relationships are understood as the ongoing verbal and non verbal behaviours between individuals, evolving through continuous interaction rather than singular moments of support (Nunan et al., 2023). This understanding reinforces that mentoring is not a static or transactional process. It is relational, dynamic, and deeply human.

Central to this relationship is trust. Trust underpins honest communication and allows both mentor and mentee to engage meaningfully in professional learning. Alongside trust, effective mentors demonstrate strong communication skills and are encouraging, insightful, empathetic, organised, and persistent in supporting growth (Bourgault, 2024). These qualities are essential in fostering a mentoring environment where both individuals feel valued and empowered.

While mentoring supports the development of the mentee, it is increasingly evident that the mentor also experiences significant professional growth. Mentoring encourages reflection, challenges established practices, and creates opportunities to reconsider approaches to teaching and learning. It is through this reciprocal exchange that mentoring becomes a powerful mechanism for sustaining professional vitality.

This reciprocity is strongly supported by research on creativity. Wang and Shibayama (2022) identify mentorship as a mechanism through which individuals acquire and develop creativity at a personal level. In a knowledge society, this is essential. Professionals must move beyond applying existing knowledge to generating new ideas and developing innovative solutions. Mentorship provides a space where this creative development can occur through the sharing of skills, knowledge, and ways of thinking (Wang and Shibayama, 2022).

Importantly, the development of creativity through mentoring is not immediate. The influence of mentor creativity often becomes evident over time, suggesting that mentoring has an enduring impact that extends well beyond the initial relationship (Wang and Shibayama, 2022). This reinforces the significance of mentoring as a long term investment in professional growth.

The effectiveness of this process is shaped by the conditions within the mentoring relationship. Creativity is strengthened when both mentor and mentee engage with autonomy and exploration. When mentees are supported to think independently, explore new ideas, and take intellectual risks, they are more likely to develop creative thinking capabilities (Wang and Shibayama, 2022). At the same time, mentors benefit from this process, as exposure to fresh perspectives and new ideas challenges habitual thinking and encourages innovation.

In practice, this aligns closely with my experience as a mentor. Mentees often bring a renewed sense of enthusiasm and curiosity. They ask questions that prompt reflection and introduce ideas that may not have been previously considered. In doing so, they contribute to a shared space of creativity where both mentor and mentee grow. Mentorship becomes not only a process of guiding others, but also a means of re engaging with one’s own professional practice.

For teacher librarians, this is particularly significant. Our roles require us to navigate evolving information landscapes, support diverse learners, and embed information literacy across the curriculum. Mentoring provides a framework for sustaining this complexity, allowing for collaborative reflection and continuous improvement.

Reflecting on my own journey, it is clear that the mentors who supported me provided more than guidance. They modelled professional generosity, creative thinking, and the importance of relationships in effective practice. Having the opportunity to now offer that same support to another professional is both meaningful and necessary.

Mentoring is, ultimately, an act of giving back. It is also an act of sustaining the profession. Through mentoring, we foster creativity, build relationships, and ensure that our practice continues to evolve. In giving forward, we not only support the development of others, but also renew our own capacity to think, adapt, and lead within an ever changing educational landscape.

References

Bourgault, A. M. (2024). Mentoring: A strategy to foster a sense of belonging. Critical Care Nurse, 44(2), 8 to 9. https://doi.org/10.4037/ccn2024701

Louis, S., and Cramer, K. (2016). Peer mentoring as professional development. LOEX Conference Proceedings. https://commons.emich.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1031 and context=loexconf2016

Nunan, A., Ebrahim, S., and Stander, M. W. (2023). Mentoring as a social partnership: Interpersonal processes and relational dynamics.

Wang, J., and Shibayama, S. (2022). Mentorship and creativity: Effects of mentor creativity and mentoring style. Research Policy, 51(2), Article 104451. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.respol.2021.104451

The Work Behind the Welcome: Readers Cup, Reading Communities and the Unseen Labour of School Libraries

Last week, my school was privileged to host the Brisbane South Readers Cup competition, welcoming more than 100 students and 23 teams from schools across the region. The evening was a celebration of reading, literature and intellectual curiosity, bringing together young people united by a shared love of books.

Readers Cup is far more than a quiz competition. At its heart, it is about creating a community of readers. In an age where young people are often characterised by what they are not doing, events such as Readers Cup remind us of what they are doing. They are reading deeply, discussing complex ideas, debating interpretations and finding joy in stories. They are building friendships around books and discovering that reading is not a solitary activity but a shared experience that connects people across schools, backgrounds and communities.

As I walked through the venue on the night, there was an unmistakable energy in the room. Students who had spent months reading and preparing came together to test their knowledge of this year’s texts. The competitive element was certainly present, but what stood out most was the enthusiasm. There is something powerful about seeing so many teenagers willingly spending an evening discussing literature when they could be almost anywhere else.

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The event was made even more special through the generosity of Nick Croydon, CEO of QBD Books, who volunteered his time as Quiz Master and donated gift vouchers for competitors. His involvement reinforced an important message: reading matters, and supporting young readers matters. In a world where time is perhaps our most precious resource, the gift of time is often the most generous contribution of all.

Yet behind every successful school library event lies a story that is rarely told.

While students see the competition, the prizes and the excitement of the evening, they do not always see the countless hours of preparation that make these opportunities possible. Nor does the wider public often recognise the significant volunteer labour that underpins many literacy initiatives within schools.

Readers Cup did not run because it appeared on a calendar. It ran because teachers, school officers and volunteers gave generously of their time beyond their normal duties. Teachers stayed after hours to judge, supervise students, keep time and assist with logistics. Library staff coordinated registrations, communication and event planning. Support staff ensured spaces were prepared and functioning. Volunteers stepped into countless roles that often go unnoticed, from scoring and administration to simple acts of hospitality and encouragement. We should also acknowledge the extraordinary work of the Children’s Book Council of Australia and its volunteers, who quietly dedicate countless hours to fostering a culture of reading through programs such as Readers Cup. Their contribution, like that of many school library staff, is often invisible to the broader public. Yet these initiatives continue because people believe deeply in the power of stories and are willing to give their own time to ensure young people have opportunities to engage with them.

This story is not unique to Readers Cup.

Across Australia, school libraries quietly deliver a remarkable array of programs that enrich the educational lives of students. Book clubs, literature festivals, writing workshops, visiting authors, reading challenges, Readers Cup teams, lunchtime activities and literacy events often exist because school library professionals believe deeply in their value. Much of this work occurs outside timetabled lessons and beyond recognised workload allocations. It is driven not by obligation but by commitment to students and a belief in the transformative power of reading.

The reality is that much of the work of school libraries remains largely invisible. When literacy outcomes improve, when students discover a love of reading, when reluctant readers find the right book, or when communities gather around literature, the effort behind those successes is not always visible. The planning meetings, the emails, the risk assessments, the book selection, the venue preparation, the volunteer coordination and the countless hours of organisation rarely make headlines.

Perhaps that is because school libraries have always been places of quiet service. They are spaces where support happens in the background, where opportunities are created without fanfare and where success is measured in the achievements of others.

However, events such as Readers Cup remind us that this work deserves recognition.

The evening was a triumph not simply because a winning team emerged, but because it demonstrated what can happen when a community invests in young readers. It showed the collective impact of educators, library professionals, support staff, volunteers, community partners and organisations such as the CBCA working together towards a common purpose.

As school libraries continue to advocate for literacy, information literacy and lifelong learning, it is important that we also acknowledge the unseen labour that makes these opportunities possible. Behind every successful event stands a network of people who choose to give more of themselves than is required.

To every teacher who stayed late, every volunteer who helped, every CBCA member who has contributed to Readers Cup over the years, every staff member who worked behind the scenes, and to Nick Croydon and QBD Books for their generosity and support, thank you.

Readers Cup may celebrate books, but it is also a celebration of people. The readers who inspire us, the educators who support them, and the communities that quietly make these experiences possible.

Sometimes the most important stories are not found in the books on the table, but in the people who make it possible for those books to change lives.

The Quiet Work of Belonging

I went to my old high school’s 40-year celebration two days ago. It was one of those evenings steeped in memory. Faces reappeared from another version of my life and conversations slipped easily back into old rhythms. I found myself reconnecting with past teachers, friends and principals, each interaction quietly reconstructing the person who I had once been.

But the moment that stayed with me, the one that carried the most weight, was seeing Mrs P, the Library Technician. I had not seen her since my last day of high school, more than twenty-five years ago. And yet, I recognised her instantly.

There was no hesitation, no uncertainty. It was as if no time had passed at all.

I walked up to her, a little tentatively, and asked if she had been the library technician back in those days. She smiled, said yes, and then paused, really looking at me. There was a flicker of recognition, the slow realisation that this was not just a past student, but someone connected to those shared years in the library.

In that moment, I felt again what I had felt all those years ago. Seen. Remembered. Held, in some quiet way, in the memory of a place that had once held me so carefully. Mrs P, along with Mrs H and our teacher librarian, Mr J, absolutely saved me in high school.

I was an awkward teenager, navigating the usual turbulence of adolescence, but also something more complex. I was trying to make sense of my identity as a migrant. I did not feel like I belonged in Brisbane. I felt out of place, uncertain of the invisible rules that seemed to come so naturally to everyone else. It was a quiet kind of dislocation, one that I carried with me each day through classrooms, corridors and playgrounds.

Except when I was in the library.

The library became my constant. I went there every day, sometimes four times a day. Before school, during breaks, at lunchtime, and after school. On sports days and swimming carnivals, when the noise and exposure felt overwhelming, I would find my way there again. It was not just a place I visited. It was a place I returned to, over and over, because I knew what waited for me.

There was space. There was calm. There was permission to exist without explanation.

What made that space transformative, however, was not simply the books or the quiet. It was the people who held it.

Mrs P. Mrs H. Mr J.

They welcomed me without making it visible. There was no intervention, no spotlight, no need to name what I was struggling to articulate myself. Instead, there were small, consistent acts of care. A smile. A brief conversation. An acceptance of my presence, no matter how often I appeared. They never made me feel like I was there too much. If anything, they made it clear that I was exactly where I was meant to be.

It was through these quiet acts that something began to shift.

I started to feel that I belonged.

Not because I had changed dramatically or suddenly fit the mould of what I thought I should be, but because the library allowed me to exist outside of that mould altogether. It was a space where difference did not need to be negotiated or justified. It was simply accepted.

On my last day of Year 12, Mr J and Mrs P handed me a pile of books. They told me, with a kind of gentle humour, that I was the only student who had borrowed and reborrowed those titles over the past five years. They thought I should take them. That they may as well belong to me.

At the time, I accepted them with gratitude. In hindsight, I understand that what they were giving me was something much larger than a stack of well worn pages. It was an acknowledgement of time, of presence, of connection. It was a way of saying that I had been seen.

Now, I find myself in their position.

As a teacher librarian, I think often about what it means to create a space like that. It is easy to speak about libraries in terms of collections, resources and programming. These are important, necessary components of our work. But they are not, in themselves, what makes a library matter.

What matters is the atmosphere we cultivate. The decisions we make, often unconsciously, about who feels welcome and who does not. The way we respond to the student who lingers a little too long, who comes back again and again, who seems to need the space in a way that goes beyond borrowing a book.

There are always students like I was.

They may not announce themselves. They may not ask for help in ways that are easily recognised. But they are there, at the edges, watching and waiting to see if a space will hold them.

The library can be that space.

Not through grand initiatives, but through consistency. Through noticing. Through the quiet, deliberate choice to welcome a student, not once, but every time they walk through the door.

Increasingly, I also see this through the experience of my own children. I watch them move through their school libraries with a sense of ease that feels both reassuring and deeply familiar. They find corners to read, people to talk to, spaces where they can simply be. There is a confidence in the way they inhabit those spaces that tells me they feel they belong.

It is a subtle thing, belonging. It is rarely declared outright. Instead, it accumulates in moments, in gestures, in the quiet understanding that a place will receive you without question.

Libraries hold the capacity to offer this in a way that few other spaces in a school can.

They are places where students can arrive without needing to explain themselves. Places where identity can be explored, shaped or simply held. Places where someone might come four times a day and never be made to feel like they are too much.

At their best, libraries are not defined by what they contain, but by what they allow.

They allow stillness. They allow curiosity. They allow refuge.

And, for some of us, they allow the slow and steady realisation that we belong.

Identity, perception and the spaces in between

Publishing my recent article in ACCESS: The Journal of the Australian School Library Association prompted a level of reflection that extended beyond professional practice. While the article itself explores how perception shapes the identity and positioning of teacher librarians within schools, the process of writing it brought into sharper focus how deeply questions of identity are also personal.

Social identity theory provided a useful framework within the article, particularly in understanding how individuals construct a sense of self through group membership, shared norms and the value ascribed to those groups by others. However, as I engaged more deeply with the theory, it became increasingly difficult to separate the professional from the personal.

As a migrant, identity has never been entirely fixed or internally defined. It has always been shaped in relation to context, to perception, and to an ongoing negotiation of belonging. There is a heightened awareness of how one is read by others, and how those readings can influence not only external opportunities but also internal confidence and voice. In this sense, the central premise of social identity theory is not abstract. It is lived.

This experience resonated strongly with the arguments explored in my article.

The role of the teacher librarian similarly exists within a space shaped by perception rather than fully understood practice. Despite the complexity of the work, including explicit teaching of information literacy, inquiry skills and critical evaluation, the role is often reduced to narrow or outdated interpretations. As social identity theory suggests, this devaluation is not confined to how the role is viewed externally. It has the potential to influence how the role is inhabited, enacted and, at times, limited.

What became evident through both the research and my own reflection is the parallel between these experiences. In both contexts, identity exists in the tension between self definition and external perception. In both cases, there is a continual negotiation between adapting to expectations and asserting a more accurate representation of who we are and what we contribute. Understanding this has shifted the way I think about professional identity. The question is no longer simply how teacher librarians are perceived, but how we actively position ourselves within that perception. In my ACCESS article, this is explored through the idea of anchoring identity in the “teacher” dimension of the role, not as a rejection of librarianship, but as a deliberate affirmation of pedagogical expertise and educational contribution.

Seen through a social identity lens, this becomes more than professional preference. It is a form of identity construction that resists marginalisation and repositions the role within core learning conversations. My own experience as a migrant has reinforced that identity is rarely passively received. It is shaped, negotiated and, at times, deliberately claimed. The same can be said for teacher librarianship. The reflections that sit alongside my published work suggest that the challenge is not only to articulate the value of the role, but to inhabit it with clarity and confidence. In doing so, the distance between perception and reality begins, slowly, to close.

Kicking Goals with Stories

On Wednesday 27 May, Luna Roo the Kangaroo Baller by Adam Jackson and Adrian Lough, illustrated by Jake A. Minton, was read simultaneously in libraries, schools, early learning settings and homes across the country, uniting communities in a shared reading experience. National Simultaneous Storytime once again brought the joy of shared reading to life across Australia, delighting young readers nationwide. As one of the most anticipated literacy events on the calendar, NSS continues to highlight the powerful role that stories play in fostering connection, imagination and a lifelong love of reading.

Here at the library, we were excited to support this year’s celebration as our primary students came together to share in the reading of Luna Roo the Kangaroo Baller. Students were active participants throughout, enthusiastically calling out “You can do it!” each time Luna Roo’s name was mentioned and cheering a joyful “Woohoo!” during key match moments. This collective energy created a vibrant and engaging reading experience that truly captured the spirit of National Simultaneous Storytime.

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Following the story, our Year 5 and 6 students took part in a creative and engaging activity, designing their own football jerseys inspired by Luna Roo’s passion for the game. This hands on experience provided a fun and meaningful way for students to connect with the text, express their creativity and celebrate the excitement and teamwork at the heart of the story. The library also supported NSS with themed bookmarks and a wonderful display of soccer reads, offering plenty of options for our budding fans to continue their reading beyond the event.

Events such as NSS not only promote literacy but also affirm the importance of storytelling as a communal act, one that brings people together and nurtures empathy, identity and belonging. We hope that our students thoroughly enjoyed meeting Luna Roo and that the accompanying activities enhanced their experience of this heartwarming and energetic story. National Simultaneous Storytime remains a powerful reminder that when we read together, we grow together.

From Words to Understanding: Five Years of Vocabulary, Inquiry and Impact

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Last week I had the privilege of presenting at the National Education Summit here in Brisbane, sharing a body of work that has evolved over the past five years, three schools and two states. What began in 2021 as a response to disrupted learning during Covid lockdowns has since developed into a sustained, evidence informed approach to vocabulary instruction, grounded in collaboration, inquiry and the role of the teacher librarian.

In the early stages of this work, my fellow teacher librarians and I were grappling with a shared challenge. Students were returning to classrooms with uneven access to the curriculum, and many lacked the language needed to engage meaningfully with content. We began asking a simple but powerful question. How do we support students to connect with learning at their point of access? The answer, we found, lay in vocabulary.

Vocabulary is more than word knowledge. It is the foundation for deeper thinking, richer comprehension and academic success across all learning areas. Drawing on Vygotsky’s understanding of learning as a social process, this work has always prioritised scaffolded, collaborative learning experiences where language is explicitly taught, modelled and applied. Halliday’s theory of language as a social semiotic further reinforced the importance of teaching students how language works within different disciplines, enabling them to access and produce increasingly complex texts.

Central to my approach is the belief that vocabulary must be taught explicitly before students are asked to engage in close reading or complex content. This thinking is informed by the cognitive reading model of Stahl & McKenna, as well as Scarborough’s Reading Rope, both of which highlight the interdependence of language comprehension and word knowledge in skilled reading. When students do not understand key terms, comprehension falters. When they do, learning accelerates.

In practice, this begins with carefully curated text sets. By introducing students to genre based texts at appropriate Lexile levels, they encounter Tier 2 and Tier 3 vocabulary in context. This is particularly powerful in subjects such as science, health and the humanities, where disciplinary language can be abstract and highly specific. Seeing vocabulary embedded within authentic texts allows students to connect meaning to purpose, rather than encountering words in isolation.

From here, explicit strategies such as the semantic mapping and the Frayer Model are used to connect schemas and deepen understanding. This is especially effective for terms that students commonly misunderstand or struggle to define, which is often the case in scientific contexts. By unpacking definitions, characteristics, examples and non examples, students build a more nuanced and transferable understanding of key concepts.

Throughout this process, resource based learning has been essential. The library is not simply a place where resources are housed, but a dynamic space where literacy and learning are designed in partnership with teachers. As a teacher librarian, I have worked closely with colleagues to co plan units that embed vocabulary instruction within inquiry based learning. Together, we create literacy rich environments where students engage with ideas, language and content in meaningful ways.

What has been most powerful is seeing the cumulative impact of this work. When vocabulary is positioned as a cornerstone of learning, students become more confident readers, more precise thinkers and more capable communicators. They are better equipped to navigate complex texts, engage in disciplinary thinking and articulate their understanding.

Presenting at the Summit this year was an opportunity to reflect on this journey and to share practical, adaptable strategies with other educators. It also reinforced the critical role that teacher librarians play in leading literacy across the curriculum. Through curation, collaboration and intentional teaching, libraries can drive approaches that ensure all students have access to the language of learning.

This work continues to evolve, but the core principle remains unchanged. If we want students to think deeply and learn effectively, we must first give them the words.

Why Science Fiction Belongs at the Heart of a Literacy‑Led Library Program

As a teacher librarian, my work is grounded in a simple but firm belief: literacy and literature must remain at the centre of learning. That does not mean avoiding complexity. It means choosing texts and genres that allow students to encounter complexity in ways that are humane, accessible and developmentally appropriate. Science fiction, often misunderstood as niche or escapist, is one of the most effective literary tools we have to do exactly that.

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Science fiction offers students a way to think without feeling interrogated. It creates space for ideas to be explored rather than defended. When students encounter ethical dilemmas, social questions or scientific possibilities through story, the focus shifts from right answers to thoughtful engagement. The speculative distance of science fiction allows students to examine power, responsibility, identity and change without the pressure of personal disclosure or immediate real‑world positioning. This is not avoidance, it is scaffolding.

From a literacy perspective, science fiction is particularly powerful for vocabulary development. Scientific, technical and abstract concepts are embedded within narrative, image and character rather than presented as isolated definitions to be memorised. Students meet words repeatedly, across contexts, wrapped in story. This kind of exposure builds depth of understanding, not just surface recognition. It is vocabulary acquisition without confrontation, learning without the spike of anxiety that can come with academic language when it is taught in isolation.

Narratives such as novels and picture books sit at the heart of this work, especially when introducing complex ideas. No one is afraid of a story! Narratives disarm resistance, invite curiosity and slow the reading process in productive ways. A well‑chosen science fiction narrative can introduce abstract ideas such as time, artificial intelligence, environmental collapse or ethical choice without signalling to students that something “difficult” is coming. In particular, science fiction picture books promote the use of imager to carry meaning alongside words, allowing students to construct understanding through multiple pathways. This multimodal entry point is particularly powerful for reluctant readers, EALD students and those who have not yet built confidence as academic learners.

Science fiction has always played a role in shaping how societies imagine the future. Long before deep‑sea exploration or space travel became reality, writers were exploring these possibilities through fiction. That imaginative work mattered. It still does. When students read science fiction, they are not just consuming stories about the future, they are learning how to think about possibility, consequence and change. They practise asking “what if” and “what next?”, questions that sit at the core of critical literacy.

In the library, science fiction becomes a bridge between disciplines. It allows science, ethics, language and social understanding to sit alongside one another rather than compete for space. This aligns deeply with socio‑cultural theories of learning that emphasise language, context and dialogue as central to meaning‑making. Stories give students a shared reference point from which rich conversation can grow. They provide a common text that supports talk, questioning and interpretation, all essential elements of strong literacy practice.

Importantly, science fiction asks students to rethink social dilemmas rather than simply react to them. By following characters through imagined futures, students can explore moral uncertainty, empathise with perspectives unlike their own and consider the long‑term impact of human decisions. This builds ethical imagination alongside analytical skill. It teaches students that thinking deeply is more valuable than answering quickly.

For me, promoting science fiction is not about chasing trends or genre enthusiasm. It is about literacy leadership. It is about selecting texts that honour imagination while strengthening language, that support curiosity without sacrificing rigour. Science fiction does not sit on the edges of serious reading. In a literacy‑led library, it belongs at the centre.

And sometimes, the most powerful way to begin that journey is with a story.

References.

BookTrust. (n.d.). Why children’s science fiction is so important. https://www.booktrust.org.uk/resources/find-resources/why-childrens-science-fiction-is-so-important/

Diyora, S., & Abduramanova, D. (2024). The role of science fiction in enhancing critical thinking and ethical imagination in education. ASEAN Journal of Science and Engineering Education, 4(3), 211–216. https://doi.org/10.17509/ajsee.v4i3.82480

Eason, A. (2024, February 27). The psychological benefits of science fiction. https://adam-eason.com/the-psychological-benefits-of-science-fiction/

Jones, E. (2020, May 24). Sci‑fi and fantasy build mental resiliency in young readers. JSTOR Daily. https://daily.jstor.org/science-fiction-builds-mental-resiliency-young-readers/

Halliday, M. A. K., & Hasan, R. (1989). Language, context, and text: Aspects of language in a social-semiotic perspective (2nd ed.). Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Vygotsky, L. S. (1978). Mind in society: The development of higher psychological processes. Harvard University Press.

Engaging Families Through the School Library – Parent/Child Book clubs.

School libraries occupy a unique position within the educational ecosystem. They sit at the intersection of learning, literacy and community, and are one of the few spaces within a school capable of meaningfully engaging students, teachers and families alike. A recent Primary Parent–Son Book Club, held in the library and deliberately designed as a shared reading experience, provided a valuable opportunity to reflect on the role school libraries can play in fostering sustained family engagement in learning.

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Research strongly supports the importance of parental involvement in children’s literacy development. While early childhood reading practices are often emphasised, evidence suggests that shared reading continues to have a significant impact well into the primary and secondary years. An article published in The Conversation synthesises international research demonstrating that when parents continue to read with their children after they have become independent readers, students show stronger reading comprehension, higher levels of engagement and more positive attitudes towards reading. The social dimension of shared reading, including discussion, questioning and the modelling of reading behaviours, is consistently identified as a critical factor in these outcomes.

More recent research further reinforces this connection between family engagement and reading success. Hu, Zhuo and Guo’s 2025 study published in Children and Youth Services Review examined the relationship between parental involvement and adolescents’ reading performance. Their findings indicate that parental engagement remains a significant predictor of reading achievement, even as reading increasingly occurs in digital and multimodal contexts. Importantly, the study highlights that meaningful involvement extends beyond direct instruction to include shared experiences, conversations about texts and visible valuing of reading within the home environment.

Parent–child book clubs hosted through the school library offer a practical and research aligned way to translate these findings into everyday practice. In this case, families met informally in the library, shared pizza and engaged in guided discussion around common texts. The term’s focus was historical fiction centred on World War II, with text choices designed to support Year 5 and 6 reading levels while also inviting deeper discussion around themes of loyalty, resilience and survival. Three text options were offered to families to allow for choice and differentiation, while maintaining a shared conceptual focus across the group.

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Morris Gleitzman’s Once was selected as one core text due to its accessibility, emotional resonance and status as the first novel in a well established and popular series for young readers. Titles by Katrina Nannestad were also chosen, particularly for her sophisticated yet accessible use of language, syntax and narrative imagery, which strongly support comprehension, vocabulary development and cognitive engagement. A third option offered greater flexibility, with some families selecting narrative non fiction biographies and others choosing popular fiction titles connected to the historical context. Wherever possible, Australian authors were prioritised, reflecting a deliberate commitment to celebrating Australian voices and ensuring students encounter texts that reflect national perspectives and storytelling traditions.

From a library perspective, initiatives such as parent–child book clubs serve multiple strategic purposes. They position the library as a welcoming and inclusive space, reinforce families as active partners in learning and create authentic opportunities for shared literacy practices that extend beyond the classroom. They also provide a tangible means of embedding research informed practice into school wide literacy approaches, demonstrating how libraries can move from advocacy to action.

Engaging families through the school library strengthens relationships, builds a shared language around reading and reinforces the understanding that literacy development is a collective responsibility. As school libraries continue to advocate for their central role in whole school literacy, family focused initiatives such as book clubs offer clear, evidence based examples of how libraries can connect learning, community and research in meaningful and sustainable ways.